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Hot spanking and caning fiction by Rod Cayenne – repeated from 2013. Strictly over-18s only!
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
“Welcome to the Old Grange Meadow Bell Foundry.”
“Thanks for inviting me, Uncle. I’ve wanted a tour for years. There’s a lot of history here, isn’t there?”
“Yes, young Rick there certainly is. It’s a very old-fashioned set-up even now. There’s a lot of tradition. We have to be a bit circumspect about what we say and about appearances, even in this day and age. That’s why I’m a little disappointed you’ve come in your goth clothing and piercings. Really, some of our customers would be outraged. The churches, I mean.”
“Sorry, Uncle. No disrespect intended, Uncle.”
“Well, I’ll take your word for it. All the same, it’s just as well no-one else is here. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the history of the place, before I start the tour proper. I started here as an apprentice way back when. The place had been running for several centuries by then. Surprisingly for this type of business, it’s changed hands a lot of times.”
“It’s not a real foundry though, is it Uncle?”
“No it’s not! Well spotted. We don’t cast bells here anymore. Before my time, they did. Nowadays we use subcontractors for that heavy work. We are more of a service operation now. Bell hanging, repairing, maintenance, frames, designing.”
“Is it a viable business, then?”
“Yes, I think so, it’s a niche business but demand is good and profits are healthy, I think, although I don’t do the accounts. Sis does them.”
“Of course. So, what was it like being an apprentice?”
“Oh, Rick! You youngsters don’t know how lucky you are! It was bloody hard work, with little pay and harsh discipline.”
“Yes, discipline. Not a word you’d understand, judging from your dress today, if I may say so,” he said shaking his head and staring at the skull logo on his goth nephew’s faded black T-shirt. “The foreman was a beast. He used to whip the bare behinds of us apprentices with a leather bell strap. He’d go at it like the clappers. They were harsh whippings where the sounds echoed around the bells like bitter-sweet music.”
“Gosh, Uncle! Sounds a bit gothic!”
“Yes, I got thrashed for all sorts. Not going to church, drinking, blasphemies, swearing, twiddling my thumbs. There was a cane, too. If anything, that hurt even more. I’ve still got his strap and cane, if you’d like to see them?”
“Well, I did ask for the full tour, Uncle.”
“Very well, they’re in my office. But first, let me show you the main workshop areas.”
As Rick toured the workshops, he was a little distracted. He kept thinking about the harsh whippings his Uncle Godfrey had mentioned. They sounded fearful, yet exciting. Somehow the dusty bells and wooden frames seemed less interesting than the thoughts that were in his head.
Eventually, the two men headed to the office. It looked quite forbidding, with a shiny black door with a cracked window. Below the glass was a grubby brass plaque: Godfrey Horne, Foreman. The office was quite a mess, with large dyeline blueprints, charts, photographs and tracings lying everywhere. In the corner stood a yellowing cream HP computer, which Rick could tell was far from state of the art.
“Look up there!” said Uncle Godfrey, pointing at a small glass-fronted case mounted on the wall. It bore a description: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY BREAK GLASS. Inside the case was a standard school cane and the leather punishment strap! Carefully, Uncle unhooked the case from the wall. In fact it wasn’t necessary to break the glass at all. The rear panel was hinged and Uncle soon liberated the punishment implements. “Want a feel?” he asked his nephew.
Rick nodded and unbuckled his studded belt, unzipped his jeans and allowed them to fall to the ground.
“Rick, what on earth are you doing? I was asking whether you wanted to handle these, not be whacked with them!”
“Oh!” said Rick, feeling incredibly stupid, “I thought it was part of my tour! I was thinking maybe you’d give me one stroke with each?”
“You stupid lad! I could never hurt you! Although you do deserve it for your stupidity and inappropriate dress today.”
“You’re right. Well then Uncle, let’s go for it! One stroke with each, like I said.”
“What? What? Definitely not. Hmmmm. Oh alright! If you insist!”
Rick did insist. He’d long had an interest in corporal punishment, torture and all things dark and goth. This was something he had to try! However, he was surprised when his uncle grabbed him by the ear and frog-marched him out to the adjacent workshop. Most realistic! Soon, Rick was bent submissively over one of the smaller bell frames, his pert bottom displayed in his black briefs. But not for long! Uncle Godfrey soon pulled the underpants down, revealing the 18-year-old’s buttocks in all their glory. In contrast to Rick’s dark gothic image, the cheeks looked remarkably peachy, pale and hairless. Was Uncle Godfrey going to enjoy this?
Removing his leather apron, Godfrey headed back to the office to collect the strap and cane. As he handled them, he reflected on the years of misery they had brought him and his fellow apprentices. The cane had been worse than the strap, although both were hellish. There was no doubt that the old foreman, George Bassett, had been a sadist. Beneath his god-fearing veneer, the man was just plain cruel. Godfrey gazed at the cane and strap. He felt he really couldn’t inflict such pain on his nephew. The glass case to contain the implements had been a bit of a laugh shared with the current workforce, but Godfrey felt it was now a sick joke. Just then, however, he gazed through the office window at his nephew waiting expectantly for a taste of strap and cane. His bottom was a tempting target, and he did deserve a thrashing for wearing that tasteless T-shirt!
Godfrey approached his nephew, put the cane down and started slapping the strap gaily on his palm. It tingled, but that was nothing compared to what it would do to Rick’s buttocks!
CRACK! The strap lashed down noisily. Young Rick leapt to his feet, clutching his bottom, and declaiming, “God, that fucking hurt!”
Godfrey surveyed the scene with disdain. Then he laughed at his nephew, “You know, when I was an apprentice, I’d have got an extra stroke for leaping up, an extra one for blasphemy and maybe a couple for that disgusting swear word! I don’t think you could take another four after that cowardly display though, could you?”
“I could and I will!” answered Rick bending over the bell frame, “Do your worst!” he goaded.
Uncle Godfrey was always keen to rise to a challenge, and stepped up before lashing the leather down on Rick’s expectant arse. A fresh red stripe appeared on the naked flesh, accompanied by a loud gasp from young Rick. A third stroke landed lower, causing a girlie squeal from the lad and unrestrained laughter from his uncle. That strap had corrupted Godfrey with its contagious sadism.
“Ready?” Uncle Godfrey asked, but there was only a grunt for a reply. This seemed to annoy him, so he put some extra force behind the next stroke which bit mercilessly into the teenager’s buttocks. There would be bruising from this beating alright.
Uncle Godfrey sniffed at the leather strap. It had matured over the years, just like he had. It had a gorgeous dark tan hue, and now it was time to saturate his nephew with its pain one last time!
“ARRRRRRRGGH!” cried Rick as the stroke hit home. Tears formed in his teenage eyes.
“You can get up for a minute, Rick. But don’t forget, you’ve got the cane to come yet!”
“Oh, Uncle!” said Rick as he massaged his bottom, “I don’t think I can take any more. Especially if the cane is worse.”
“Nonsense!” said Uncle Godfrey, “That’s a tough hide you’ve got there lad. Remember, it’s only one stroke of the cane, no matter what.”
“Promise, Rick. Now bend over and stick your bottom out nicely for me. That’s it. Now, let me examine your marks.”
Godfrey looked at the five livid red stripes. They seemed to suit the buttocks, making them look even more attractive. Rick thrust his bottom out a little more for his uncle, as if he was teasing him. Godfrey was tempted to touch the marks, but decided against. Instead he laid the spiteful strap down on top of the nearest bell and picked up the cane. In a flashback, he imagined it was thirty-something years ago and that it was his bottom on the receiving end. He remembered the fire and the humiliation of a particularly severe beating at the hands of Mr. Bassett. He was in two minds about Rick’s forthcoming stroke. Should he show the lad how bad the cane could be, or should he show a little mercy? In the event, it was a medium-strength stroke. However, Rick wasn’t to know that his uncle had been holding back a little. The pain engulfed the teenager, who jumped up and did a merry dance, hopping around and rubbing his bottom.
Uncle Godfrey laughed heartily at the lad’s display of discomfort. He flexed the cane and swished it through the air. Rick flinched and stopped his frantic rubbing.
“Don’t worry, Rick. That’s it. No more cane. It’s good that you had a taste of it though. Now you know what I had to go through. So, tell me, was the cane worse than the strap?”
“Oh yes, Uncle! Much worse. I didn’t like the cane at all!”
Uncle looked at his nephew with puzzlement. It rather sounded as if he’d enjoyed the strap, but not the cane. Just then, a thought occurred to the old man.
“You made so much noise and disturbance that we didn’t hear the bells singing and echoing the thrashing sounds.”
“Oh come on, Uncle. Really! Surely that must just be your imagination?”
“No, really. I remember it distinctly. So let’s try it!”
“No, no, Uncle. My poor bottom.”
“Poor bottom, my arse! I’ve hardly touched you. We’re going to try it. Keep perfectly quiet after the cane lands. Listen intently.”
CRACK! The cane swished down on the teenager once again. Rick obeyed instructions and remained quiet despite the shocking pain of the cane. And indeed, there did seem to be some sort of echo or reverberation of the noise of the cane’s strike.
“Did you hear that?” Uncle Godfrey quizzed impatiently.
“Maybe, a little something,” said Rick, “Try it again, please.”
CRACK! Again the cane landed, but this time with a louder retort which echoed around the bells in the workshop.
“Hey, I really heard that! Wicked! Let’s try the strap, Uncle.”
And so it was that the strap landed and gave a perfect echo. Rick hadn’t reckoned on what followed next though! Three more rapid strokes of the strap crashed down on his teenage buttocks. The cumulative echo was much more noticeable, the bells almost singing in chorus.
“Well done! You took those last few really well, Rick. I think it’s time to call a halt though. We don’t want to get carried away with our little game, do we?”
Rick smiled enigmatically at his uncle. Rubbing furiously, a broad smile crossed the teenager’s face. He had a question too, “Any chance of an apprenticeship, Uncle?”
Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne
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